Olivia

by Donna Sturgeon

  “Let her go!” Olivia pushed herself to her feet and pulled on Yvette’s arm to get her away from Clete. “Damn it, Clete! She’s not a criminal!”

  “Anything you say can and will be used against you—”

  “Clete!”

  “What?!”

  “Let her go!”

  Clete’s jaw set as he looked from Olivia to Yvette and back to Olivia. “No.”

  “Clete!” Olivia cried out in frustration, but it didn’t do any good.

  Clete half-walked, half-carried a snarling, snapping Yvette to the police car as he finished reciting her Miranda rights. He shoved her into the backseat and slammed the door, then walked around the cruiser and ripped open the front passenger door. “Get in.”

  It wasn’t a request.

  “No.” Olivia crossed her arms over her chest and glued her feet in place on the blacktop.

  “Get in the car, Olivia,” Clete repeated. Again, not a request.

  “Not until you let Yvette go.” Her eyes narrowed and she set her jaw. Her head throbbed and there were two Cletes glaring back at her, but she held her ground.

  “Get in the car.”

  “Fuck you, Clete.”

  “Real mature.”

  Olivia stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Get in the goddamn car. Right. Now!”

  Olivia had no idea why he was pissed off, but he was definitely pissed. And it pissed her off that he was pissed off. “Fuck. You!”

  “Olivia?” Izzie put her hand on Olivia’s arm and tried to turn her around. “Are you ok?”

  Olivia pushed Izzie away. “Go to hell, Iz.”

  “Liv?” Izzie asked again, her voice breaking. “Sweetie, please look at me.”

  Olivia ignored her.

  “You’re bleeding, Liv,” Sam said.

  “What?” Olivia whipped around to face him. The parking lot spun and fireworks shot through her vision as she grabbed at Sam to catch her balance. Her other hand came up to touch the back of her head again, and this time it came back soaking wet, warm, and red. “Oh…”

  And Olivia fainted.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “It’s none of your business, Liv,” George said as they lay in each other’s arms later that night. Or maybe it was early the next morning. Olivia didn’t know which for sure.

  Her brain was still a little fuzzy from her knock on the head, and the second knock on the head she got when she fainted. The single stitch the EMT gave her in the parking lot burned like hell, and she was still pissed at Clete because he was still pissed at her and she still had no clue why he was pissed in the first place. He had stuck around long enough for the ambulance to arrive, with George close behind, and then he’d set Yvette free and taken off with a squeal of his tires.

  From what else Olivia could remember, Yvette apologized to Olivia, George apologized to Yvette, and Olivia apologized to the EMT when she got so dizzy she threw up on him. George brought her home and stripped her down and cleaned her up and then took her to bed. With every minute that passed, her head grew clearer and she felt more alert, but sitting up still kinda sucked.

  “Izzie and John are my business. Izzie’s been my business since we were kids, and her marriage is my business.”

  “Izzie’s a grown woman. If she wants to get a divorce there’s nothing you can do to stop her,” George said.

  “But she’s making a huge mistake. Izzie and John are in love! They’ve always been in love. She just forgot that while she was all wrapped up in her crazy, baby-making obsession. I never should’ve let him stay at his brother’s house—and what was I thinking having Mel and all her kids move in with Iz?” She turned toward George and propped up on an elbow. “I should’ve made them stay together and just taken Izzie to see Dr. Phil or something instead.”

  “Dr. Phil?” George laughed.

  “He’s a very smart man.”

  George smiled and tucked a wild piece of Olivia’s hair behind her ear. “How’s your head?”

  “Ok.” She shrugged. “Why? You horny or something?”

  “Always. But that’s not why I asked,” he said.

  “I’m horny.”

  George smiled. “Not tonight.”

  Olivia pouted. “Why?”

  “Because you might have a concussion,” he said.

  “So?”

  “So, you should take it easy.”

  “I could lay here and let you do all the work,” Olivia offered with an eyebrow wiggle and a little smile.

  “No.” George smiled back.

  “I thought if you have a concussion you weren’t supposed to sleep. I don’t think they ever said anything about avoiding orgasms.”

  “Really? I coulda swore I heard that somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “On Dr. Phil maybe?” George teased.

  “Jackass.” She ran a light hand down his face and kissed him. “I’m going to miss you when this is over.”

  “You don’t have to miss me yet. I’m not going anywhere,” George whispered, then pulled her down for another kiss.

  Olivia closed her eyes as he deepened the kiss, and the room tipped slightly off its axis.

  “Whoa,” she said on a fast exhale, and lay back down.

  George sat up at attention. “You ok?”

  She brought her hands to her head to stop the spinning. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  He watched her for a moment, evaluating her, then stretched out alongside her and held her close. “Maybe we should keep you awake for real, just in case.”

  “But I’m tired,” she murmured into his neck. And she was tired. Suddenly she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

  “I know. But let’s stay awake anyway.”

  “Sex?”

  “No.” George laughed. “Let’s just talk.”

  “About what?” Her lips worked his neck and her hand slid across his chest as she snuggled into him. God, she was really going to miss him. She loved everything about him—his scent, his laugh, his smile, his angry face, the way he tasted, how he crooked his eyebrow when she irritated him, his cooking, his handwriting, the way his jeans hung on his hips, the little trail of hair from his belly button down to his…

  “Liv?” George whispered and shook her gently.

  If she could go back and do it all again, would she? Would she let herself fall in love with a man who could never love her in the way she needed to be loved? She wanted a lifetime with George. She wanted to marry him and know she could make love to him until they were too old to make love and were satisfied with giving each other papery kisses every morning and every night. She wanted to feel his baby growing in her belly and watch the unique mix of him and her grow up and make them smile and piss them off and be immortalized in a Walmart Portrait Studio 8x10 in a wooden frame. She wanted to throw him a fiftieth birthday party and bring him pancakes in bed.

  “Wake up, Liv.”

  If she kept her eyes closed they could be together forever. She could spend the rest of her life with her head on his shoulder and his whispers in her ear. His heart would be hers, and hers alone, and she would be all he needed to be complete. He wouldn’t long for the love he lost. He wouldn’t feel empty or alone. They would have each other, and they would be whole.

  “Come on, Liv, open your eyes.”

  “Mmm… Don’t wanna.”

  “Please, Baby Girl.”

  How would she ever find anyone else who made her feel the way George made her feel? He needed completion, but she was already complete. She had been from the moment he had sighed and opened his heart to her. It was where she belonged. She was meant to love and be loved by George, but he was meant to love and be loved by someone else… and it wasn’t fair.

  “George?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Tell me you love me.”

  “I love you, Baby Girl.”

  “Forever?”

  “And ever and ever.”

  “I love you, too, Georgie.”

  She had never be
en fully and completely loved by anyone. Not by her mother, not by Eugene, although he tried. Not by Pee-Pee or any of the string of guys who came after him, and definitely not by Mitch. What was wrong with her that she could not be the love of someone’s life? Was she so horrible a person that she was destined to end up heartbroken and alone? Because once George left her, that’s what she would become. Alone. There was no life for her after him.

  “Hey.” George shook her again. “Don’t fall back asleep.”

  “I’m awake,” she said, but only her lips moved, no sound came out.

  “Liv.”

  She slid her leg along his and kissed his neck.

  George sighed in contentment and ran his hand around her hip.

  Eyes closed… Perfect moment… Perfect life… Never wake up.

  “Olivia.”

  She fit him. He fit her. They fit each other.

  “George?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Will you teach me how to make pancakes?”

  “Ok,” he answered with a chuckle.

  “Tonight?”

  “How about tomorrow morning?”

  “Ok.” She sighed. She stretched and her body protested. It was tired and wanted to go to sleep. “I’m tired.”

  “You have to stay awake.”

  “Make love to me.”

  “How about instead of that you tell me something about yourself that I don’t already know,” George suggested.

  “You know everything.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yeah, you do.” Her fingertips trailed across his chest and down his stomach, around his belly button and down to his—

  “Liv,” George warned and took her hand in his.

  “You suck.”

  “I know.”

  “What don’t you know about me?” She pressed her palm into George’s and finally opened her eyes to look at their hands together. His was bigger and stronger and made hers look small. She liked the way her hand looked when George held it.

  “Why did you have a life size cut-out of Marky Mark in your trailer?” George asked.

  “Because he’s hot,” Olivia answered. Duh.

  “Ok.” George laughed. “Umm… let’s see… When you were a kid, what did you dream of being when you grew up?”

  “The food sample lady at the grocery store.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.” Olivia brought George’s hand to her lips. She tasted his skin, falling in love with its flavor all over again. “It looked like a pretty cool job.”

  “I guess it does,” George agreed.

  “What did you want to do?”

  “Play football.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I was good, but a lot of guys were better.” He outlined her lips with his fingertip and asked in whisper, “Favorite flavor of bubble gum?”

  “Grape.” She parted her lips and moistened them with her tongue. “Yours?”

  “Grape.” He outlined her lips again and asked, “Bubble Yum or Bubblicious?”

  “Tidal Wave.”

  “I forgot about Tidal Wave,” he said with a little smile. His face turned serious as his fingertips traveled around her features, memorizing her by touch. “Why didn’t you tell me about your mom and sister?”

  She pulled out of his arms and turned away from him as the buried anger instantly flashed into flame. “I don’t have a mom or sister.”

  Fuck Clete and his big fat, fucking mouth. She pushed herself up and pinned George down and kissed him to get him to stop asking questions.

  “Liv…” He brought his hands up and tried to push her away or at least slow her down.

  “Shut up, George,” Olivia commanded and kissed him again.

  “Olivia,” George said with more authority as he swiftly rolled them both over so he was on top and in control. “Tell me about your sister.”

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  Olivia swallowed the bile taste of hatred burning up her throat and spread her legs so George’s hips could nestle into hers. She ran her hands across his shoulders and down his arms and stared into the deep well of concern in his eyes.

  God, she loved him so much.

  “What do you want to know?” she conceded, but only because he loved her so much as well.

  “Everything.”

  Olivia closed her eyes tight as the image of Toni Tennille came flooding back in a rush. Her eyes filled with tears and George kissed her with a tender love that made her cry more. He rolled off of her and held her to his chest, and through her tears she told him of the letter and Clete’s phone call and their trip to the Barnes and Noble.

  She recalled everything they had said to each other, and the story Toni had told her of their mother. She told him of Clete’s disapproval that she had signed the paper relinquishing her rights, and expressed that she still believed she did the right thing and nothing George could say would make her change her mind.

  When she finished her story, he asked, “Did you tell Eugene any of this?”

  “No, and I never will.”

  “Good.”

  Olivia looked up at him. “Why is that good?”

  “Just keep this one to yourself. Ok?”

  Olivia nodded with relief that he understood. George had always understood everything about her without her having to explain a thing. They didn’t need to play Twenty Questions. They knew everything they would ever need to know simply by looking into each other’s eyes.

  “Now,” George said and took a deep breath. “There’s something I have to tell you… Clete and I…”

  “Shh,” Olivia whispered and brought her finger to his lips. “Don’t. Please. Not tonight.”

  “But—”

  “No,” Olivia said with firm authority. “I know what you’re going to say and I refuse to talk about that tonight.”

  George removed her hand from his lips. “There’s no possible way you can know what I’m about to say.”

  “Is it going to upset me?” she asked.

  “Probably… Yes.”

  “Then save it for tomorrow.” She brought her lips to his and closed her eyes. “Please, George. Just let me have tonight.”

  “Olivia…” George protested, but Olivia was insistent on shutting him up this time, and he gave in to her wishes. He made a slow and gentle love to her, the perfect kind of love that made her feel so utterly and completely whole and beautiful that it took everything she had not to cry.

  * * *

  “Wake up, Baby Girl.”

  Olivia opened her eyes and squinted from the bright, morning sun. Her hand scrubbed her face and ran around to the little knot on the back of her head with the tiny stitch in it. “Oww.”

  “How does your head feel?” George asked.

  “Ok.”

  It hurt, and throbbed a bit in time with her heartbeat, but it was a dull ache. Nothing two Tylenol couldn’t fix. She stretched and listened to her joints pop, and George laughed.

  “You sound old.”

  “I feel old,” she said.

  “Time to get up.” He gave her a light kiss, then stood up and pulled her blankets away.

  “What time is it?”

  “A quarter to ten.”

  “I have four hours yet.” She rolled away from him.

  “No, you don’t. You have to get up now.” He rolled her back over and pulled her into a sitting position. “Up we go.”

  “Why?” she whined.

  “Because Clete’s on his way to pick you up.”

  Olivia rubbed her eyes again. “Why is Clete picking me up?”

  “Because you’re going to stay with him for a few days. I have to go to Omaha and you can’t stay here by yourself.” George handed her a pile of clothes. “Get dressed.”

  “Why are you going to Omaha?”

  “Kitty’s,” George said without further explanation.

  “So let me go with you,” she said.

  “You can’t.”
/>   “Why not?”

  “Because.” He sighed. “You just can’t. Ok?”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Get dressed.”

  The doorbell rang. George left the room and shut the door, leaving her baffled, bewildered and confused. She pulled her clothes on quickly and followed him out. As soon as she turned the corner into the living room, she saw the two separate piles of luggage, one for him and one for her. And Clete was standing next to hers.

  “Good morning, Olivia.” Clete picked up her duffle bag. “You ready to go?”

  “So you’re talking to me again, huh?” She glowered.

  He glowered back at her. “For the moment.”

  “I’m not going with you. I’m going to Omaha with George,” she said.

  “No, you’re not,” George said. He turned her toward him and gave her a hug. “Clete will take care of you while I’m gone, and when I get back I’ll come pick you up.”

  She pushed him away. “I’m not a fucking dog, George! I can take care of myself!”

  George sighed. “Just go with Clete, Liv.”

  “Why?” she asked in frustration. “What the hell’s going on?”

  George and Clete looked at each other, communicating in silent conspiracy. George shook his head. Clete nodded as though in understanding, then carried her bag out into the hallway and stood outside the door waiting for her.

  “George?” Olivia asked in desperation. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her so completely it felt wrapped in finality, and it scared the hell out of her.

  When he let her go, he said, “I love you, Olivia. Have fun with Clete.” He gave her a little push out of the apartment and closed the door firmly behind her.

  She stared at the black, metal number 16 on his door with her mouth ajar and her heart shredding into a million pieces.

  “You ready to go?” Clete asked.

  “Are you going to tell me what the fuck’s going on?” she demanded.

  “You really need to stop swearing, Olivia,” Clete said. He started for the stairs.

  Olivia pushed past him. “Try and make me, you motherfucking asshole.”

  She flew down the stairs and out into the parking lot and debated running away, but she had no cash and nowhere to go, so she stomped over to Clete’s cruiser instead. He threw her bags into the trunk and looked up at George’s apartment with longing before he slid behind the wheel.